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The young girl fell from her nest
in the crotch of a Douglas fir atop
the highest ridge on Carter’s Knob
on a morning when the sun was down
and the smoke moved like a snake
through the treetops below her
and the Tuckaseegee curled like
a ribbon, the rapids glistening white
in the distance, storm clouds hanging
ominously over her, when her father
was long dead, her mother off hunting
and her own first true love had departed,
she reached the end of the swaying branch,
spread her young wings and launched,
because that’s what young girls do.
Bob McAfee is a retired software consultant who lives with his wife near Boston. He has written eight books of poetry, mostly on Love, Aging, and the Natural World. For the last several years he has hosted a Wednesday night Zoom poetry workshop. His website, www.bobmcafee.com, contains links to all his published poetry.
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